


Sweatbox

by etches_park



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Meetings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 20:57:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4720196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etches_park/pseuds/etches_park
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Petr's first time in a gay sauna leads to interesting experiences</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweatbox

Petr looked up at the name of the place that he had been pressganged into going to; Sweatbox. Just looking at that word made shivers run down his spine. He was in way over his head. Maybe he could just turn and go before it was…

“Come on, Pete. John’s going to explode if we don’t get in soon”, Frank’s fingers curled around his forearm and pulled him along. It was too late.

Petr tentatively followed Frank and John down the dark, twisting staircase. Along the walls were posters advertising various clubs or nights out with pictures of men in shorts so small it seemed a waste of material to have even bothered making them. As they went deeper and deeper underground, the sound of the repetitive techno music began to grow louder.

As they reached the foot of the stairs, John’s excitement was palpable as he bounded over to the intercom and gave the button a sharp push. There was a brief pause, and Petr would have been happy for it to go on forever, before the door buzzed and John pulled it open. The door led to a cramped reception area with a counter behind glass and a turnstile off to one side with rows of lockers beyond it.

As Frank held the heavy door open for Petr, John had already scampered over to the desk and received his towel and locker key wristband. “I’ll wait for you guys in here”, he said without looking over his shoulder, swiping the fob on his wristband and disappearing through the turnstile.

Petr watched Frank’s head tilt to watch John’s plump posterior disappear before snapping back to the matter at hand. He crossed the short distance to the desk and said something which sounded like a jumble of letters and number to the young receptionist. A price appeared on the cash register screen and Frank slid a five pound note through the gap, receiving a towel and wristband in exchange.

The cashier then turned to Petr. “Your username?”

Petr blinked. Username? Had he heard correctly over the throbbing musak? “He’s new”, Frank explained, jumping in before Petr had even opened his mouth, “Just set an account up for him”

There was a huff from behind the glass, but Petr was soon set up with an account and his own username consisting of a jumble of letters and numbers; not that he had even tried to remember it. He would go this once and that was it. He’d have never had the guts to walk into a gay sauna on his own, so when Frank and John had invited him along, his curiosity had allowed him to get this far. He paid his entry fee, picked up his towel and wristband, and followed Frank through the turnstile into the locker room.

Inside were rows and rows of numbered lockers with benches down the middle of the rows and laundry bins at the ends of the benches. John was sat waiting for them, already in nothing but his towel. “I thought you’d never get here”, he moaned huskily as they approached, closing the gap between himself and Frank and sliding his hands under the older man’s shirt as he nipped at his ear, “I need you, Frankie…”

“I’ll be there soon”, Frank replied back in just as husky a voice, cupping John’s rear through the towel, “Go shower and I’ll follow you in”

John grinned and scampered away again, his bare feet slapping against the tiled floor. Frank grinned and watched him go before opening his locker and starting to disrobe. A few lockers down, Petr started to do the same but paused as Frank pulled his shirt off over his head. “Is that a tattoo?”

Frank looked at him confused, then looked down at the markings peering over the waistband of his boxers. “Oh, yeah”, he answered as he slid the offending garment down to reveal the small blue lion on his hip, “John’s wanted us to do something like this for ages, so we sat down and talked and ended up with matching lions. Hurt like hell, but the sex when we got home was out of this world”

Petr smiled weakly and carried on stripping. He wrapped his towel and around his waist then slid his boxers down from under the towel. Frank, meanwhile, was still naked from the reveal and was putting his clothes in his locker; his towel forgotten to one side. Petr could see some of the other people in the locker room watching them and it made him feel very uncomfortable indeed. He wasn’t bad looking by any stretch of the imagination, but feeling the long, lingering, almost predatorial gaze of the men in the locker room made him shiver.

Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, which was easier said than done when you were over 6’5”, Petr walked towards the showers. John was still there, rubbing his naked body down under the spray, and sure enough there was a blue lion on his hip; slightly bigger than Frank’s lion. Averting his eyes, Petr hung his towel on a free peg and stepped under the spray of a free shower, quickly rubbing himself all over before darting out and grabbing his towel to cover himself again.

“Don’t look so scared”, Frank chortled as he passed, “We’ll look after you, right Johnny?”

He gave John’s rear a light smack, which resounded through the small tiled shower area, much to the delight of its owner. Petr smiled weakly again and willed the two men to hurry up. The sooner he actually got to trying the sauna, the quicker he could leave.

After what felt like an eternity, Frank and John stepped from under the spray and recovered themselves with their towels. The three men left the shower room and walked out into the corridor. The passageway was lined with heavy looking doors with peep-holes cut in and after every third door there was a small bowl mounted on the wall with foil squares inside. Every so often, Frank or John - mostly John - would pause for a moment and try to look through the hole in the doors.

“Thomas is back with Miro”, the younger man remarked, “Bastien must be away with Lukas again”

“John, stop gossiping and keep up”, Frank sighed before turning to Petr, “He’s lucky the people in there are usually too busy to care about what’s going on outside”

Petr made a non-commital noise and kept moving. Ahead he saw a man with the beginnings of a beard coming the other way, peering into every peep hole but being so short that he had to stand on tip-toe to see in. Eventually, he paused and called out to his partner who was coming up the corridor, heaving open the heavy door to reveal a large mattress. His partner grabbed some foil squares from a nearby bowl and pushed the bearded man inside, who giggled, “Oh, Bran. You know I like it when you’re forceful”. The door closed behind them with a heavy thud, and Petr carried on following Frank and John

At the end of the corridor, they reached the sauna area. Off to one side were a series of hot tubs built into the floor while on the other side was the frosted glass door to the steam room. Petr could see shadows moving behind the glass, but not the people themselves. John and Frank hung their towels and pegs and stepped down into one of the hot tubs, nodding a greeting to the sole occupant who opened one eye to look at them and then went back to relaxing.

Petr gulped and followed them. His heart raced as he slid off his towel and hung it beside Frank’s towel before quickly turning and lowering himself into the hot tub. As he turned and sat down, his leg knocked against that of the hot tub’s original occupant who frowned and opened his eyes. As Petr blushed and mouthed an apology, the brow unfurled and its owner settled down once more.

Out of the corner of his eye, Petr could see John shuffling closer to Frank and the younger man’s teeth started grazing his lover’s earlobe. Through the bubbling water, Petr could see hands moving beneath the surface and the intended destination was revealed when Frank’s lips curled into a smile and a slight moan slipped from his lips.

Petr closed his eyes and tried to block out the sounds. He tried to focus on the repetitive beat. The jet on his lower back was working wonders on the tension down there and the warm water was soothing in itself. He was just getting comfortable when there was a splash and he felt Frank and John stand up. Opening one eye, he watched the two men rise out of the jacuzzi, their cocks erect and swishing as they grabbed their towels and moved quickly to the steam room.

Petr watched them go and then turned to face forwards again. As he did so, he got his first proper look at the man he was sharing the water with. His skin was a beautiful olive colour with rich, dark brown hair sprouting from his chest and forming a trail down his stomach and into the water. Petr risked a glance lower, but the water was too choppy to see clearly. Bringing his eyes back up again, his gaze locked with a pair of chocolate pools looking back. Momentarily hypnotised, Petr looked away. He’d been caught. Shit.

He felt the other man’s gaze linger for a moment before his eyes closed again and everything carried on as before. Petr had had enough. He wanted to leave...but if he left now, it would make him look guilty. Maybe if he stayed a little longer, it wouldn’t look like he was fleeing after being caught looking. Also, it might give his erection chance to go down.

“Alrights, lads? Either of you after a good time?”

A harsh Scouse accent brought Petr out of his train of thought and he watched the newcomer almost divebomb into the jacuzzi in his excitement. His hairless body glistening in the mood lighting and he sat down directly opposite the steps looking from one guy to the other. His gaze settled on Petr. “Fuck me, you’re hairy!”, he exclaimed, “Your arms are like a gorilla, lad”

“Leave him alone, Gerrard…”, Petr looked across at the other man who was staring at the Scouser with a face like thunder. “Does Xabi know you’re here?”

There was a lot of spluttering and half-answers but no reply came. “I thought so”, Petr’s saviour concluded, rising out of the water and turning to him, “Come on, let’s get out of here and leave Stevie to his own devices...”

Petr was taken aback for a moment, but followed. In the toss up between a stranger and Stevie, no contest. Grabbing his towel from the hook, Petr covered himself quickly and followed the other man to the steam room. It was dark inside and Petr could see the shapes of men sitting on the benches along the sides of the room. His guide stopped and sat down in a space, patting a gap next to him as an invitation for Petr to sit.

As his eyes adjusted to the dark, Petr could make out a part of the room that extended out into a smaller area with benches in two or three tiers. There, he could make out men lying down, some with towels and some without. A light gasp caught his attention and he turned to see the outline of Frank sat upright with John lying next to him, his head in Frank’s lap. The sound of soft slurps told Petr all he needed to know, although Frank and John weren’t the only couple taking advantage of the darkness. A tall bald man was sat close to a shorter man with a thick beard and their hands were moving under each other’s towels.

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to…”, was whispered in Petr’s ear. He jumped and looked at the other man. Up close, his eyes were more powerful than ever, even in such low lighting.

Petr swallowed and muttered a soft ‘thanks’, although he wasn’t sure why he needed to thank the other man. He was momentarily distracted by Frank letting out a groan through gritted teeth that told him all he needed to know about what was happening. John’s head had stopped bobbing up and down and he was taut as a bowstring for a few moments.

Everyone looked away out of respect as John sat up and the two men picked up their towels and left. Petr had a sneaking suspicion where they were going, as did most of the steam room, he imagined. A sudden urge of panic flooded through him when he felt his companion stand up too. “I’m leaving”, he announced in a whisper, “Nice to meet you…”

Petr stood up quickly. “So am I”, he replied, “I didn’t plan to stop for long…”

He received a nod in reply and then the two men left the steam room. As they opened the door, they passed two men waiting to go in; one of whom almost looked too young to be there and who was walking with a slight discomfort. Petr’s friend took the younger man by the arm and stopped him. “You’ve got something on your back, kiddo”, he remarked; reaching around and pulling off a small foil corner before handing it to the younger man.

The young man blushed. “Danke, Carlo”, he smiled

Carlo smiled back and ruffled his hair, even though the younger man was about an inch or so taller than him. “Any time. Don’t tire Miro out too much, OK?”

The young German blushed and disappeared into the steam room. Carlo smiled, then turned to Petr. “I’m sorry, I don’t even know your name! I’m Carlo”

“Petr”

“Pleasure to meet you...drink?”

“Sure…”

Petr followed Carlo back along the corridors, neither man stopping to peer into any of the rooms, and stepped back into the showers to wash. This time, Petr was a lot more relaxed as he scrubbed himself down, and even risked a glance over his shoulder from time to time. 

He was ready to leave in no time, and thankfully Carlo didn’t seem to want to take his time either. They walked back through the reception under the gaze of the grumpy cashier and climbed the spiral staircase. Out in the open air, Petr got his first look at Carlo in natural light. The man was breathtaking, so much so that Petr almost missed Carlo asking where he wanted to go to get a drink.

“Oh...err...anywhere”, he spluttered, “You choose...”

Carlo shrugged. “I used to like the Kings Arms…”, he began, “But it has turned into somewhat of a meat market now. You think Stevie was bad, imagine a whole pub of his type leering at the poor souls just trying to have a drink. The Ship’s a nice pub, and it usually has live music on, but I don’t think anyone’s playing today”

Petr nodded, but he wasn’t listening. He was entranced by the movement of Carlo’s lips and enjoying the sound of the other man’s voice without actually taking in what was being said. He seemed so animated as he weighed up various places to go out loud.

At that moment, Petr’s stomach rumbled and he remembered how he had come to be here. He'd woken up on his own accord to the sound of birds in the tree outside his window rather than being dragged into consciousness by his tinny little alarm clock. Over breakfast, he'd got a text from Frank inviting him to coffee. It was the first time they'd all had a day off at the same time in months so Petr had swiftly responded his agreement and received details of the cafe they would meet in. He was pleasantly surprised by how empty the platform and train were in contrast to his usual rush hour journey into London and using the map on his phone, he had wound his way through the backstreets past the dubious looking sex shop and Chinese massage parlours; arriving at the cafe just after noon. Ordering a milky coffee, he had perused the menu, expecting to eat once the others had arrived. That had been his first mistake. 

His second had been to let his curiosity get the better of him. Over coffee, Frank and John had revealed their plan for the day was to visit the sauna and when Petr remarked that he had never been to one, the invitation to join them had been extended. Naturally an inquisitive person, Petr had accepted the offer and so the three men had finished their drinks and left. That was how he had ended up outside Sweatbox earlier that day, suddenly regretting ever having agreed to a cup of coffee. But then again, he would have never met Carlo…

Carlo, who was glancing at his watch. “I haven’t had lunch yet”, he remarked, “Maybe a bite to eat rather than a drink?”

“I could eat something. Food sounds like a very good idea…”

“Well London’s full of it. What do you fancy?”

Petr’s stomach rumbled louder this time. "I'll eat anything that fills me up"

As the words left his lips, Petr realised the second meaning that could be taken from what he had just said, especially by people who frequented the kind of establishment he had just left, but Carlo just laughed. 

"I know just the place...."

******  
“Carlo!”

“Giorgio!”

Petr watched as the two men embraced tightly and cheek kisses were exchanged. He had followed Carlo to a small Italian restaurant on the edge of Soho. The sound of the traffic on Charing Cross Road was almost drowned out by the atmosphere inside. The little restaurant was bustling and the fleet of impeccably turned out waiters were scurrying about with generous amounts of pizza, pasta and all manner of other dishes.

Carlo turned back to face Petr, one arm still hanging over Giorgio’s shoulders. “Petr, I’d like you to meet Giorgio Chiellini, the owner of the best Italian restaurant in London bar none”

Giorgio blustered in Italian, probably protesting the title that Carlo had laid upon him, but Carlo seemed to convince him with just as much gesticulating and blustering. Eventually, Giorgio led Carlo and Petr to a table in the corner of the restaurant. “Whatever you want…”, he told them as he handed over the menus, “On the house”

Carlo opened his mouth to protest, but he was cut off. “The best chef this restaurant ever had paying for food? No, no, no. I will not have it”

And with that, he was gone. Carlo smiled to himself as he opened his menu. “Giorgio has always been a bit of a force of nature”, he explained to Petr, “We started this place, the two of us; he was fresh out of university with his Economics degree from the University of Turin and I’d worked in the kitchens of a few restaurants building up my skills. It was hard at first, two twenty-somethings starting out on their own, but with me in the kitchen and Giorgio out front, we somehow made it work”

Petr looked down at his menu. He had to admit it all sounded very appetising, and for central London, the price was very reasonable too. “So do you still work here?”, he asked, deciding whether or not to have the calamari as his starter or his main course

Carlo looked up from his menu and shook his head. “No, if you want to sample my cooking now, you have to go to one of those big restaurants with the 6 month waiting list…”, he replied, “It’s nice to be wanted, but the restaurant owner is a bit of an arse. If it’s not exactly how he likes it…”

He trailed off and dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. “Enough about me. What do you do?”

"I work in a second hand bookshop in Notting Hill. There's something about books, especially old ones, that I can't get enough of; every so often you'll find a book with a passage underlined and just like that you have a story within the story, one about why that passage meant so much to the previous owner. Sometimes you get books that have been read so many times that they’re almost falling apart and..."

Petr paused. Carlo was staring at him with a smile on his lips. "Was I rambling?"

Carlo shook his head with a bigger smile. "No, I was enjoying listening to you talk with such passion. I'd never really thought about the stories of actual books but it's thought provoking. I suppose the more dog eared the book, the more interesting a life it has had..."

Petr nodded. “Books have the power to take our minds elsewhere and to give us the chance to slip into a completely different world for a few moments. That’s why they’re so dangerous in places where people have no freedom. The whole history of underground printing houses is fascinating. I still keep my samizdat copy of Vanĕk under my mattress even after all these years, just in case…”

“I’d love to see it sometime…”, Carlo remarked with a wink causing Petr to suddenly become very interested in his menu in an attempt the fight the blush rising in his cheeks. Relief flooded through his body when he caught sight of the waiter approaching them but as he opened his mouth to order, his throat closed up. 

So many Italian words that he had no idea about pronouncing. What if he got it wrong in front of Carlo? What if he accidentally insulted the man in his native tongue? One look in those soft brown eyes calmed his nerves and if Petr had said the wrong thing, Carlo didn't let on.

As the meal progressed, Petr swung between being too nervous to speak and saying anything that came to mind in order to fill the silence. It had been so long since he’d been on a date that he would give anything to not mess things up...even if this wasn’t a date.

Finishing the meal, Carlo settled the bill; persuading Giorgio to at least let him pay for the drinks that they had consumed while simultaneously refusing to accept the money Petr was offering him for his half of this very small bill.

As he opened the door to leave Petr was hit by a wave of traffic noise. The restaurant had been so lively that it was almost easy to forget the bustling city that lay outside. The walk to the tube station was mostly done in silence, although with the onslaught of people on the pavement, it would have been hard to keep a conversation going as they tried to avoid a head-on collision.

As he entered the station, Petr rummaged for his Oyster card with one hand while scooping up a copy of the Evening Standard with the other and tucking it under his arm. He sailed through the barriers, with Carlo following behind. At the foot of the escalator, the rush of wind told him there’d be a few minutes wait before the next train, but Petr didn’t mind.

He slowed for a moment to check which platform he needed for Waterloo, one too many experiences of going the wrong way at an unfamiliar station having made him over-cautious, and as he turned, bumped into Carlo turning the other way.

Both men looked confused for a second, and it dawned. This was the end. They were going their separate ways. Petr briefly considered whether he could stretch the time he was spending with Carlo out a little longer. Maybe he could take the northbound train a few stops and then change and pick his train home up from Vauxhall instead of Waterloo. Maybe he could…

“Can I have your number?”

The question snapped Petr out of his daze. “My what?”

“Your number”

There was a definite blush in Carlo’s cheeks, even in the dim, dingy tube station lighting. For a moment, Petr was stunned. He couldn’t remember the last person who had asked for his number, and he’d never been asked by someone as stunning as Carlo. More often than not, he’d be the one asking, wearing that hopeful look tinted with the fear that the other person didn’t feel as strongly. “O..of course!”, he blustered, tearing a corner from his newspaper and searching in his pocket for a pen.

The smile on Carlo’s face made him go weak at the knees. As he handed over his number, Petr felt Carlo’s arm wrap around him, and a definite kiss was planted on his cheek. Now it was Petr’s turn to blush, and he turned his back while looking over his shoulder to wave at Carlo as he moved away. Even considering how they’d met, Petr was still a little embarrassed at how his body had reacted to the hug and kiss.

Safely on the platform, and checking to make sure no-one was looking, he rearranged himself so as not to look so obvious. He jumped and quickly pulled his hand away as the booming voice announced the next train was two minutes away.

He reached Waterloo in good time for his train and found an empty seat towards the front. He turned his phone back on and waited for his messages to load. A stream of texts appeared and he scrolled excitedly through them. His smile faded as he passed colleagues asking him to swap shifts with them and adverts for opticians or lunches for a pound on Mondays. A little grin curled on his lips when he saw the multitude of texts from Frank and John asking where he was. He’d almost forgotten about them. Nothing from Carlo.

Petr slumped in his seat. He chastised himself for getting so excited. Of course it had been a pity ask. What did he possibly think a man like Carlo had seen in someone like him? He sighed heavily and wondered if it was too late to go back to bed and start the day again.

The train journey seemed to go on forever. Petr just wanted it to be over so he could curl up in bed and finish the tub of Ben & Jerrys he kept in the freezer for days like this. Finally, the train rolled into his station and he dragged his long limbs sadly to the door. He almost missed the buzz of his phone as he stepped down onto the platform.

An unknown number with a one word message: “Petr?”

Petr’s fingers shook as he tapped out a tentative response: “Carlo?”

He didn’t move while he waited for a reply; frozen somewhere between the platform and the ticket barrier, and oblivious to his fellow passengers who were having to go around the tall obstruction. Finally, his phone buzzed again.

“Yes, it’s me. I was worried you’d given me a fake number. I enjoyed today. Shall we do it again sometime?”

Petr wasted no time in texting back and almost skipped home. He didn’t even have a date or time but he was so excited that he didn’t care. 

He was in love.


End file.
